


Breaking the Rules

by Anonymous



Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - Canadian 21st c., Political RPF - France 21st c.
Genre: Blow Jobs, I'm Going to Hell, Jealousy, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Behavior, Rough Oral Sex, pre-G7 visit to Canada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:40:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24148300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Some rules are just meant to be broken.
Relationships: Emmanuel Macron/Justin Trudeau
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32
Collections: Anonymous





	Breaking the Rules

**Author's Note:**

> Just to avoid any possible confusion: this work is fictional, quite obviously. It's non-profit, too. If that ship isn't your cup of tea (which is fine) I am fairly certain that there's something more to your liking among the other 5 million works AO3 currently hosts. I'm sure your browser has a return button just like mine. That's cool, too.
> 
> Everyone else: happy reading.
> 
> I have no other excuse for this story apart from this photo a friend sent me: [ Photo of them June 6th, 2018 ](https://www.gettyimages.de/detail/nachrichtenfoto/canadian-prime-minister-justin-trudeau-welcomes-french-nachrichtenfoto/968618370?)

**Breaking the Rules**

* * *

Often enough Justin finds Emmanuel’s jealousy endearing—and actually rather exciting.

Right now, however, is the worst moment for a jealous fit. Emmanuel has just arrived at the Office of the Prime Minister and Privy Council building, facing Parliament Hill. It’s early June, D-Day actually, just two days before the Charlevoix G7 Summit will start, difficult discussions ensured. The schedule of Emmanuel’s pre-G7 visit to Canada is tight: Ottawa today—formal talks, followed by private dinner (he’s growing impatient of it already), a joint news conference tomorrow; then Montreal, Quebec City, and finally, La Malbaie.

“That photo,” Emmanuel hisses, casting Justin a judging glance the moment they step inside the building. “Was it truly necessary?”

“What photo?” Justin blinks once, confused. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“That photo between Édouard and you.” Emmanuel gives Justin a sour look. “I even introduced you two.” (a)

Inwardly, Justin sighs. Now, he knows exactly which photo Emmanuel is speaking of—or rather of which series of photos.

“Calm down, Manu,” he says, lowering his voice so that nobody will overhear them. He’s tempted to roll his eyes at Emmanuel but doesn’t for too many eyes and cameras are directed at them.

Emmanuel remains silent like a sulking child.

“Probably it wasn’t necessary, no,” Justin goes on, agreeing for the simple reason to calm Emmanuel down. Each and every word is accompanied by an appeasing gesture of his hands, despite still tempted to roll his eyes. It’s idiocy—photos like that can’t be prevented. “And yet, as you perhaps are well aware of, you can hardly make me responsible for something I never initiated in the first place.” (b)

Emmanuel casts him a side-glance through narrowed eyes, then flashes a smile for the photographers as he walks up the stairs at Justin’s side as if nothing of that argument had ever happened.

The corners of Justin’s mouth lift.

 _‘Good,’_ he thinks, struggling to keep pace with Emmanuel fleeing up the stairs.

* * *

Once inside Justin’s office, the fit of jealousy is completely forgotten.

They talk and smile constantly as Justin is showing Emmanuel around. It’s a parade for the flock of photographers who have followed them, documenting the scenic round to his room.

They pose, too—at the window, at Justin’s desk, and in front of the flags. Not that much posing is necessary in the first place when they are together; it’s rather the exact opposite: they have to contain their obvious excitement of being together again. Each and every photo ever taken of them is a telltale of how close they are—or have become. Occasionally, they are involving the photographers in their conversation about transparent multilateralism to face the global challenges of today. Displaying unity has never been more important than now: just last week, Trump has decided to impose punishing tariffs on imports of aluminum and steel.

Emmanuel lets his gaze sweep across the desk, admiring the polished wood, darkened significantly throughout the years. Justin had cleaned it up specifically for this occasion; had arranged, or rather rearranged various items on it—his headphones, a bottle of water (environmentally friendly glass, obviously), some pens as he knows that both their photographers have an insane love for details. Not that the desk itself isn’t worth to be mentioned. In his first month of office, Justin had ordered the old desk to be exchanged for the one his father once had used, built around 1880. (c)

As always when they are together time slips through their fingers. Another handshake, followed by countless clicks of the cameras announces the end of the public part of their meeting and when all shots are taken, the photographers hurry out of the room. 

* * *

As soon as they are alone Emmanuel’s face transforms, back towards jealously once again.

Despite everything he knows about Emmanuel and his fickle moods, Justin has indeed hoped that the argument won’t be brought up again.

This time, he allows himself the liberty to sigh.

“I don’t get it,” he says the moment the door clicks shut. “It’s a photo. Like a thousand others exist. Of both of us, actually.”

“That’s not the same,” Emmanuel says, taking a step towards where Justin stands. There’s something in Emmanuel’s eyes he has never seen before; something deeply unsettling—like a fire, but its flame burning cold like ice.

“No?” Justin draws his eyebrows together. “Don’t look at me like this.”

Emmanuel outright ignores him, taking another step forward. “Tell me, how am I looking at you?” he says with a grin that is outright smug.

It’s a fair warning, one Justin deliberately ignores. If Emmanuel wants to play—or sulk as both options are quite possible: so be it. “You are still looking at me like I am supposed to explain that damn photo to you.”

“No,” Emmanuel states, pinning Justin against the wall even before he’s got a chance to complain. “I just want to remind you that I don’t enjoy it if others touch you.”

Thankfully, the door is far away enough as Justin can’t stifle his gasp in time, feeling his cheeks go hot. “I—”

“Shut up,” Emmanuel rasps, grabbing Justin by the collar to kiss him.

Although tempted to give in to Emmanuel’s mouth, Justin tries to tilt his head away, with little success. When they’re like this, during these rare occasions, Emmanuel always presses as close as possible, as if he’s starving for the touch, in need of Justin’s body to ground him, and each time, it warms Justin’s heart and sways his mind. Just as always, he relents. It’s a dance of fingers, greedily raking over clothes and skin; through hair; of lips, clashing and devouring, and with every touch, every kiss Justin’s doubts sway but aren’t silenced completely. There’s nothing gentle in the way they kiss; nothing tender. Emmanuel’s kisses aim to bruise, and Justin doesn’t take any of it, kissing back with the same roughness as if it’s a conquest. Just as in so many other things, they are equal—equally rough, equally demanding. And equally soft, if they feel like it.

“Let go of me,” Justin demands the moment Emmanuel withdraws his lips, hating the way his voice breaks from all too familiar excitement.

The fact is: they have established rules for their relationship long ago.

One of these rules is: no sex in parliament. And that rule is absolute. (d)

Not on the phone, not by vid call, either. In fact, not at all. Justin has insisted (although he has been tempted to break it often enough in the past).

“Keep still,” Emmanuel hisses, hands dipping between them.

Triumph flashes across Emmanuel’s face the moment he cups the bulge in Justin’s trousers with his palm. “So much for no sex in parliament.”

“Damn you!” Justin groans. “That’s not fair.”

Emmanuel shrugs, not even trying to hide his devilish smile.

He shouldn’t be swayed—

shouldn’t be tempted.

And yet: it is proving to be very difficult.

It’s doing things to him when Emmanuel is like that, demanding, possessive; it always does, and Emmanuel knows well that Justin just can’t resist the temptation that comes with it.

Lips ghosting against Justin’s ear he whispers, “Who said I was to play fair with you? Some rules are just meant to be broken. Get on your knees.”

“ _What?”_

Justin stares at Emmanuel, blinking—in disbelief and excitement both.

“You heard me, and understood me,” Emmanuel tells him, tongue darting out to lick along the shell of Justin’s ear, something that has Justin trembling within seconds. “And actually, we both knew that one day this rule will be broken.”

It’s been long when last they’ve been physically like this. Far too long.

_Yes._

Justin doesn’t say it; can’t say it for any word would come out as a helpless whimper no matter how hard he tries.

“Damn you, Manu!” Justin curses but falls on his knees all the same.

Gentle fingers sweep across Justin’s cheek, and in response, he gazes upwards, though more out of reflex than anything else.

The gentleness doesn’t last. Emmanuel takes hold of Justin’s chin, tightening his grip until Justin’s lips purse in slight discomfort, opening the belt and fly with his other hand. “Look at me, so that perhaps next time you’ll remember not to allow your mind and hands to go astray.”

“Fuck.” Justin swears, trembling; from the way Emmanuel’s lips have curved into a knowing smile; from the authority ringing in his voice. It’s a command better to be obeyed.

Nothing of it is earnest, but the consequence is all the same.

He’s trapped between Emmanuel’s body and the wall, with nowhere else to go than forward; at Emmanuel’s mercy and at his will, and although it’s in Parliament quite enjoying himself.

Justin holds Emmanuel’s gaze, smiling. Then, he opens his mouth; eager, awaiting—a silent invitation.

Emmanuel doesn’t need to be told twice.

With a sharp intake of breath that speaks of nothing else than anticipation and excitement he takes himself in hand and guides his cock towards Justin’s mouth.

For a second, Justin considers tilting his head away for he knows just how weak Emmanuel is for his teasing; not that he would get very far as Emmanuel’s grip on his chin is like iron, and yet it speaks of tenderness.

Emmanuel raises his eyebrows. “You don’t even consider refusing me?”

It’s never meant as a question in the first place and Justin doesn’t take it for one.

Eyes never leaving Emmanuel’s gaze, he coos, “Am I in a position to refuse you?”

Emmanuel shakes his head, answering sharply, “Hardly.”

The sharp yet husky voice provokes a buzz of adrenaline, spreading through Justin’s body as if he’s not electrified enough already. Being at Emmanuel’s mercy gets straight to his cock, all the more as Emmanuel’s hand comes to rest on the back of his head, guiding him forward.

Not that Justin needs much encouragement; the absolute rule is long forgotten.

He sucks Emmanuel’s cock into his mouth, swirling his tongue a few times before he bobs his head to match the rhythm in which Emmanuel begins to roll his hips against his face.

_Damn it._

_Damn him._

Emmanuel pushes on the back of Justin’s head, thrusting deeper this time, and Justin already feels lost. Although they’ve shared some blowjobs in the past, they’ve never done anything like this. It’s all too quickly becoming wild, rough, and messy; it’s carnal and incredibly dirty for everything Justin does, he does at Emmanuel’s will. And damn it, _damn him_ , he had never thought he’d get off it as much as he does. But then, Emmanuel’s got a natural talent to undo him, in each and every way.

Hands pressed against Emmanuel’s thighs, Justin swallows desperately when Emmanuel thrusts more forcefully, his heavy breathing through his nose drowning the silence that clings to the room. His trousers have long become distinctly too tight and damp, and for a second he’s tempted to let his hand drop between his parted legs. He resists as Emmanuel certainly won’t approve.

What they are doing is insane, not rational at all. It’s madness to get lost in such foolishness with ears listening just outside the door; it’s insane to risk everything they’ve carefully built. And yet here they are: not giving a fuck about what they are doing, apart from stifling their moans. In Justin’s head Emmanuel’s sounds of pleasure are very much alive, accompanied by the reality of Emmanuel’s face transforming from relaxed to exert. 

The hand in his hair goes tight, forcing his attention back.

_‘Fuck. Damn you.’_

It’s as if Emmanuel hears Justin’s thoughts, thrusting harder. There’s always gagging for Justin, every single time. There’s just no way to prevent it from happening, no matter how hard he tries, and now he is presented with the additional challenge to keep quiet.

He knows that he’s already drooling, edging his legs apart so that he won’t stain his trousers with saliva. And yet: he can’t resist his tease. His hands fly to Emmanuel’s buttocks, pressing his body closer towards his face.

“Justin,” Emmanuel moans above him, pressing one hand against the wooden wall in support. “Damn it.”

The fingers of his other hand tangled in Justin’s hair, twisting until it almost hurts, though the pain is nothing compared to the delicious burn of his mouth as Emmanuel holds him down almost brutally. It doesn’t matter for he knows that it is his mouth, and everything it does that drives Emmanuel to the brink of ecstasy and that alone is worth all efforts. He hollows his cheeks, fighting against the gags and coughs, sucking and humming until Emmanuel swears above him.

Justin wishes to relish in the sensation, wishes to let his eyes fall shut but can’t bring himself to do it. Not when Emmanuel’s looking at him—down at him in that way, eyes filled with lust and adoration, a non-verbal praise of _‘You are doing so well for me.’_ He’s quite certain he can come from that look alone, never looking away just as it is expected of him. His lips and jaw are burning; his knees aching, but Emmanuel’s expression is worth all agony.

By Emmanuel’s faltering rhythm and the way his hand rakes through his hair, he can easily tell that Emmanuel is close (damn him, he’s too), another string of wet choking noises tumbling from his lips as Emmanuel thrusts deeper than he ever had, almost hitting the back of Justin’s throat. Out of reflex, he tries to jerk his head backward but doesn’t come overly far for Emmanuel’s hand at the back of his head is unyielding.

Emmanuel gives him a moment in which Justin is briefly managing to withdraw his mouth to properly catch his breath but before he can inhale a second time he finds himself pushed down on Emmanuel’s cock again, lips stretching tightly around it. He’s very aware of how much he struggles not to cough and splutter; is painfully aware of how his eyes grow watery with each and every thrust. Wrecked; used, is probably what described him best right now.

But then: Emmanuel loves destruction, at least when he’s the cause of it.

There’s only one word to describe what they are doing – and it’s intense; and it’s the madness of a very special sort, one Justin wishes to relive again, somewhere far away, where it’s just them for one precious night; far away from prying eyes and curious ears. It’s thoughts like these in which Justin loses himself so easily, failing to notice the subtle—and not so subtle signals of Emmanuel’s approaching climax.

“Fuck, Justin, I’m—”

The warning comes too late.

With a last shallow thrust Emmanuel comes in Justin’s mouth, and it takes all of Justin’s strength not to follow him.

Although he doesn’t see it, Justin knows his lips are swollen, glistening wet with saliva and Emmanuel’s cum; his expensive suit ruffled to some extent. The hand in his hair slides to his face to cup his jaw in what Justin has deciphered as a silent _‘thank you’_ long ago, Emmanuel’s thumb tracing his cheekbone. Still on his knees, Justin leans into Emmanuel’s hand like a touch-starved cat, still obediently gazing upwards from under wet lashes watching E catch his breath. 

Just in the exact moment Emmanuel opens his eyes and looks down at him again, Justin obscenely wipes his mouth with the back of his hand,

“Damn you,” Emmanuel rasps, still breathless as he tucks him back into his trousers. “That was necessary, non?” (e)

Justin dons his most radiant smile, finally rising from the floor. “Mais oui, monsieur le Président?” he whispers against Emmanuel’s lips, feeling the trembling the official title provokes. (f)

That’s one thing Emmanuel is predictably weak for and Justin knows it well.

Emmanuel rolls his eyes at him. “That was necessary, too, I take it?.”

“Yes,” Justin laughs, tilting his head to the side before kissing him.

Sometimes, if they have time for it that is, they watch each other recover after finishing, left sore and used by the other’s hand, smiling; but often—just as today—other obligations are pressing and nothing more than a kiss, speaking of yet unfulfilled promises, is granted them.

The only difference today is that a private dinner still awaits them; and that revenge will be Justin’s right afterward. It’s D-Day, after all.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> (a) A bunch of photos that have sparked E’s jealousy 😊 [ Justin with Édouard ](https://www.dailymail.co.uk/wires/ap/article-5625881/Trudeau-Canadian-leader-address-French-parliament.html) , but it is especially this one that has been bothering him ever since [ Well... :D ](https://i.dailymail.co.uk/1/2018/04/17/15/wire-2727130-1523975827-547_634x421.jpg)
> 
> (b) That’s the photo of them on the stairs … [ photo ](https://www.gettyimages.de/detail/nachrichtenfoto/canadian-prime-minister-justin-trudeau-welcomes-french-nachrichtenfoto/968618370?)
> 
> (c) Article about Justin's desk: [ Article cbc.ca ](https://www.cbc.ca/news/politics/justin-trudeau-pierre-old-desk-1.3340911)
> 
> (d) I borrowed the ‘no sex in parliament rule’ from MacdeauShipper’s fic, [ Just like this ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22820875/chapters/54537928) Thanks for allowing me to use it. 
> 
> (e) The only excuse I have for this is my hc that J totally gets off E saying ‘non?’.
> 
> (f) “But of course,” – the same excuse as above, but with reversed roles.


End file.
